Little White Lies
by Madapple
Summary: Years after the defeat of Voldemort, Muggles are mysteriously being killed. Hermione is enlisted to help solve these puzzles, but soon discovers she has a mystery of her own to work out.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 Believe Them All

Hermione Granger furrowed her eyebrows, and pushed her eyeglasses further up her nose, as she concentrated on the haphazard stacks of parchment scattered across the surface of her desk. There were three different sets of documents, the edges each color-coded blue, green and red, to avoid confusion, but the contents read with an eerie similarity. Three Muggle families, each with children attending Hogwarts, had been completely obliterated. Their homes nearly destroyed by fire and reduced to rubble within five days of the start of winter break.

The first fire had occurred the second day after the end of term, at the home of Martin Blackman, a second year Hufflepuff, hopeful house-team beater and fan of Puddlemere United. The Blackman family had lived in a modest home in Metheringham village. Mr. Blackman was a local schoolteacher and Mrs. Blackman a librarian. Martin was the first wizard in his family. He also had a younger sister, Jolie, who was expecting her Hogwarts letter in July.

The second fire occurred just hours after the first, in Pilchard. Molly Gladstone was a first year Ravenclaw, also her family's first witch. It seems she spent her free time in the library, reading whatever volumes found their way into her willing hands.

Hermione smiled reminiscently as she remembered the hours she spent exploring the seemingly endless library shelves. Many of those books became like treasured friends, solid, dependable and present. They were one of her greatest comforts as she struggled to find her place among the children of well established Wizarding families. Those books helped her fill many lonely hours until she befriended Harry and Ron, and many hours after as well, when Quidditch became the focus of the boys' conversation and activity. With quiet resignation, Hermione returned her gaze to the papers in front of her.

When away from school, Molly lived with her mother, Violet, who was employed as a shop assistant at a nearby dress shop. Molly was an only child.

The third fire occurred two days later in Little Whittleby. Robert Quaverley was a second year Ravenclaw who excelled in Herbology, mischief and pranks. He lived with his Grandmother and older sister, Anna. Robert's mother, Rose, the first witch in her family, also a former Hogwarts student, Ravenclaw, had mysteriously disappeared about seven years ago. Hermione had a vague memory of a shy, dark-haired girl with pink hair ribbons, who walked with a slight limp, several years ahead of her in school. The identity and whereabouts of Robert's father are unknown.

Given the circumstances of the "supposed" accidents, Hermione thought it rather odd that she was given these assignments. Ever since coming to work for the Ministry of Magic five years ago, she had worked as Arthur Weasley's assistant in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, and hadn't investigated anything more dangerous than enchanted toasters or belching toilet seats, most courtesy of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

The reasons Hermione ended up enmeshed in this investigation made her a bit nervous and uncertain. The papers had arrived, by owl, from the Minister at the end of the day yesterday in a huge envelope with her name written in large, dark letters across the front. It had also been marked confidential. Hermione had barely had enough time to scan the first couple of pages before it was time to go home.

The supposed accidental deaths of three Muggle families with magical connections in such rapid succession left little doubt of foul play. Obviously, the Ministry felt some kind of inquiry was in order. However, there being no obvious malevolent, magical connection, despite the children being students at Hogwarts, the Ministry was left in a quandary as to how to begin, let alone accomplish an investigation.

"But why me?" she whispered to herself. Although she didn't doubt for a minute she could do a more than adequate job of the inquiry, she wondered at the wisdom of allowing someone, with little investigative experience, to check into what would probably turn out to be multiple murder investigations.

Reconciling herself to the task at hand, she took out a quill and several clean sheets of parchment to begin taking notes from the myriad reports she was reading. Her goal was to find a few less obvious correlations between the students, their families and their experiences.

Glancing at the reports from the Muggle Fire Inspectors, Hermione noted that each of the tragedies began in upstairs rooms, probably the children's bedrooms. There seemed to be no presence of accelerants in any of the situations. Yet, as indicated, the fires each spread at alarming rates, so rapidly that there would have been no opportunity to perform rescue attempts for any members of the households even if the fire brigades had arrived in time. If fact, the fires burned so rapidly that they burned themselves out before assistance even arrived.

Another strange notation was that the fires themselves seemed to be selective entities, about what and where they burned. Chasing rapidly through bedrooms and sitting rooms where the family members were located, but leaving untouched hallways, stairwells, snugs and small box rooms that separated the much larger spaces. Selective fires, almost as if they could think for themselves.

Hastily written in blue ink at the bottom of one report was the notation that a neighbor of the Quaverley's, a Mrs. Heaney, noticed that before the fire burned itself out, it acquired an almost greenish glow. Next to that was penciled another small note about the "poor, old dear imbibing in too much cooking sherry."

She became so absorbed in her task that she didn't notice as she worked her way through her lunch hour. It was nearly two o'clock in the afternoon before the rumbling of her stomach became too noisy to ignore. Shelving all thoughts for a minute, Hermione made her way through the noisy chaos that always greeted her in Auror Headquarters. She smiled and waved absentmindedly at Tonks who greeted her from inside her small cubicle.

Hermione entered the lift and pushed the button for Level Nine. Level Nine, she thought it fitting that the staff canteen was located on the same floor as the Department of Mysteries. Looking down at her plate of food, she noticed that today's Shepherds Pie looked remarkably like yesterday's Hangleton Hot Pot. With a sigh, she pushed herself away from the table and returned to her office.

Just as she was about to re-attack the tangle of documents, the sound of someone clearing his throat interrupted her reverie. Hermione looked up annoyed at the interruption, then her eyes widened in shock.

'Professor Dumbledore…"she began, startled at his appearance, as he entered the room and discreetly closed the door. She hadn't seen Professor Dumbledore since the morning after Harry had defeated Voldemort at Godric's Hollow nearly ten years ago, three years after they left Hogwarts. They had all lost a lot of friends that night; Remus, Seamus, Cho, Professor Flitwick. Madame Hooch suffered so severely from a Crucio curse that she had been living at St. Mungo's ever since.

"Please stay seated, my dear," Dumbledore began in his slightly raspy voice. "Also, forgive me this interruption, but I fear this is not a social call." He seated himself in the chair opposite her crowded desk. His eyes had lost their distinctive twinkle. In fact, his whole demeanor seemed very grave.

"Of course, sir." Hermione returned. She already knew what was coming, but asked anyway. "How can I be of assistance to you?"

"I know, Ms. Granger, that you are aware of the unfortunate situations that have arisen."  
Hermione nodded in acknowledgement. Dumbledore continued, "I know you understand that any concerns I have about the repetition of those events which occurred in the recent past have reawakened with this current onslaught of violence."

"Are you saying, sir, that you think Lord Voldemort has returned?" Hermione was aghast at this revelation.

Hermione remembered Harry's recounting of how Voldemort used a portkey to kidnap him from the center of the Triwizard Tournament maze, took his blood to perform a rebirthing ceremony and once again tried to kill him. That small amount of blood nearly brought about the destruction of the entire world.

It seemed that Voldemort finally had enough human in him to die. But the outcome of Voldemort's actions would seriously wound one of the Wizarding world's greatest heroes. For late that October night, when Harry faced and destroyed Voldemort ten years ago, he had nearly destroyed himself.

During the final showdown, when a badly bruised and battered Harry took aim and launched his final blast at the Dark Lord, the Wizarding world was shaken to it foundations. In that moment, the minute amount of Harry's blood, absorbed by Voldemort, screamed out for its source, and a severely wounded Harry, blood cells screaming from the final release of energy, energy given by his mother's sacrifice, was driven mad from the rebounding synergy.

The world changed that day, too. It shook as if being pummeled, and twisted as if trying to turn inward upon itself. People screamed out in distress, fear and agony. The mass destructive chaos was over in less than a minute. The buildings could be rebuilt. Most of the people continued their lives, without even acknowledging the events of that night; but some, the warriors who faced down that ultimate evil, were irreparably scarred.

Six months Harry spent in a coma, healing spells and potions daily applied to and forced down his slowly, recovering body. The physical bruises disappeared; that the mental ones would was much less certain. In the end, it was Ginny Weasley who was finally successful in ascending into and pulling Harry from his dark pit and Dumbledore who gave Harry a pensieve into which he could dump the worst of his memories. Hermione could only imagine the thoughts that shallow basin contained.

After the destruction of Voldemort, Harry had spent nearly four years as a resident of St. Mungo's. Now, the wounded but still recovering hero was married to Ginny Weasley, a girl who had grown into a loving, patient, compassionate woman.

Harry was slowly returning to normal. Although he still suffered from the most unimaginable nightmares, even the frequency of those were becoming less and less. It had been a long time since Hermione had been to visit them, Ginny kept in touch though, mostly through her father and regular owl post. Hermione looked forward to those letters with melancholic furor.

Hermione turned her attention back to the conversation.

"No, my dear, what I am saying is that Voldemort had many loyal followers who may very well feel it is their obligation to continue his work. In that light, and given the current circumstances, I have requested that the Ministry provide additional support to ensure the security of the muggle-born students at Hogwarts."

"But Professor . . . ," Hermione interrupted, finally realizing the direction of Dumbledore's thoughts.

Dumbledore ignored the interruption as if it hadn't occurred. "The Minister has agreed but not without reservation. We feel that the placement of an Auror would cause undue concern among the school Governors, unchecked excitement among the students and call unwanted attention from outside organizations. We want someone who can perform her duties without calling remarkable attention to herself. Someone who can discreetly investigate this situation."

Hermione shook her head vigorously up and down realizing that his comment about outside organizations referred directly to sources of media like the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler.

"We need someone who is familiar with the school routine, someone who can participate in daily activities and functions, and interact knowledgably with the students both wizard and Muggle born. More importantly, we need someone who is discreet, trustworthy and will put the welfare of the students before any other concerns. It seems, my dear, that you are the logical choice for such a task."

Hermione sighed heavily, knowing she had little choice in the matter. Obviously, Dumbledore had made his decision.

"When would you like me to arrive, sir?" she asked.

"As soon as possible, tomorrow morning at the latest." Dumbledore replied.

"I will Floo into Hogsmeade tomorrow before breakfast." Hermione replied, her mind already flying to the myriad chores she had to accomplish before leaving in the morning. Somehow she felt as if there were something more Dumbledore needed to say.

"Is there anything else, sir?"

Surprisingly, Dumbledore shifted uncomfortably in his chair, a look of trepidation crossed his face. He stood abruptly and walked toward the doorway, reaching for the knob before making his exit. As if a thought suddenly occurred to him, he turned dramatically and sighed. Hermione waited on tenter hooks, if Dumbledore was choosing to tell her this way, she knew it wasn't going to be good.

"Yes, Ms. Granger, there is one more thing…" Dumbledore hesitated, as if the idea had suddenly popped into his head.

Hermione knew better, but waited expectantly.

"You will be serving as an assistant to Professor Snape in the Potions lab. That is the one area in which I could justify to the School Governor's the employment of an additional staff member. No one but you, Severus, the Minister and myself will know your true reason for being there. Let us hope it remains that way. Good day, Ms. Granger."

Hermione made no reply to his hasty farewell. She sat there in dumb silence, the shock of the situation pressing in on her. She sat there for a long time, fingertips pressed to her eyelids, coming to grips with the job she had to perform.

Totally unaware of what she was doing, she began stuffing the documents scattered upon her desk into a sturdy, leather portfolio. She stood, put on her jacket, and collected a tote bag into which she stuffed her handbag, the portfolio and several memos that, before Dumbledore's arrival, had been destined for the dustbin. The name Professor Snape echoed in her mind, while it tried to deny the truth of the situation. Walking down the corridor toward Auror Headquarters, Hermione paused to take a steadying breath before, once again, entering the chaos.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 Reconnecting

The trip up from London was uneventful to say the least. Which made up for the fact that preparing for it was a Herculean task. Nevertheless, in the space of a few hours Hermione managed to redirect her subscription to the Quibbler, pack enough belongings to ensure several weeks of comfort, buy herself an enormous box of Muggle chocolates and cajole her neighbor into watering her plants. She just wished she had some idea of how long this was going to take.

Traveling by Floo was not Hermione's favorite mode of transportation, but she was out of practice Apparating, so had to suffer the consequences of soot and ash. When she stepped out of the fireplace at the Three Broomsticks at such an early hour, Madam Rosemerta barely glanced in her direction, even when she ordered a warm Butterbeer. Rosemerta's lack of reaction gave Hermione some hope that she could retain some anonymity during this visit. Hopefully, her appearance in Hogsmeade would not be an experience that would often be repeated.

After downing her drink in two quick gulps, Hermione gathered her belongings and began her journey to Hogwarts. Her feet, numbed by the cold, remembered the well-worn path and as she walked, she was able to enjoy the undisturbed peace of the morning. She mused that the only thing wrong with undisturbed peace is that it gave her too much time to think about things that were well forgotten.

Her mind wandered to the past. She remembered the last meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, where she had been assigned to flank and protect Remus' back as the Order launched the final, surprise assault on Voldemort's stronghold just outside Godric's Hollow. She had failed miserably. Remus died that night, a slow, agonizing death, and she had been responsible. The guilt still gnawed at her.

Even now, Hermione found it ironic that Lily and James Potter went into hiding in what could be considered the Dark Lord's backyard, and as history shows, he wasted no time in exacting his revenge.

The high, stone wall that guarded Hogwarts from prying outsiders danced into her blurred vision. Hermione was so absorbed in her memories of the past; she did not even realize when silent tears began falling from her eyes or when the chilly wind took a stinging bite of her reddened cheeks.

She removed her eyeglasses, wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, then replaced them. The myopia those eyeglasses corrected were her only remaining outward remnant of the injuries she received the night the Order of the Phoenix had faced down and defeated the Dark Lord. The Mediwizards at St. Mungo's believed they could cure the malady with a few simple charms. Hermione had chosen to live with the minor affliction. After all, many of the others lived with injuries much worse than the ones she received.

The journey from Hogsmeade had passed much too quickly. Hermione stood between the tall, iron gates, surveying the imposing building façade and grounds in front of her. Drifting downward from the dawn filled sky was a gentle fall of snow. She was grateful for the coat wrapped tightly around her, and the wool hat pulled snugly over her ears, as she felt the brisk chill in her fingers and toes. They were almost as cold as the icy lumps forming inside her throat and stomach.

The shadows of dawn still clung, in places, to the wild landscape. The red-gold sunrise behind her reflected off the castle's high, stone walls and its surrounding haze. Lingering fingers of damp mist hung heavily from the castle turrets, hiding the lights that glowed within its many windows. She knew they were there, the lights, the windows, even though she could not see them through the thick, gray shroud.

She sighed heavily, nothing had changed and the familiarity gave her a sense of comfort. Then she silently amended her thoughts, nothing about the structure had changed anyway. She knew that within those walls a great deal had changed.

Under her breath, she recited her mantra, "You can do this, you can do this, you can do this." She was not sure if she wanted to laugh hysterically at this situation; then run away, or cry like a baby; then run away. Nevertheless, she was here, and here she would stay. After all, she had given her word to Dumbledore, and a promise to Dumbledore was not something lightly undertaken.

Just in front of her, a loud crunch of stale snow and a heavy footfall caught her attention. The mist parted, giving way to the silently approaching figure. Hermione dropped her case and tote bag of notes, and hurled herself forward. Her lips stretched into a watery smile as she felt those arms close around her in a tight hug of genuine welcome.

"Hello, Hermione," he greeted her, a smile in his voice. His friendly demeanor made it seem as if she had only been away for a few weeks instead of nearly a decade.

"Hagrid," she breathed in, her eyes tearing again. He smelled just like she remembered; dark forest, wet animals and warm treacle. "It is wonderful to see you again. How have you been?" She stepped back and surveyed him from top to toe. "You look very well."

"Busy this year," Hagrid replied, "I keep having to chase the first years away from the Forbidden Forest, they never learn. Fluffy just gave birth to a litter of pups, and Professor Grubbly-Plank has decided that she wants to retire at the end of next term."

"Oh, Hagrid," Hermione eagerly questioned, "where did you find another three headed dog? Are you planning to apply for the Care of Magical Creatures position?"

"Well. . ." he responded guardedly, "I just may apply for that position."

His mind jumped quickly to the next topic. "I found a mate for Fluffy by answering an advertisement in the Daily Prophet. " Hagrid's voice rose excitedly. "I thought it was the perfect opportunity; after all, how often do you come across a three-headed dog even in the trade?" 

Not waiting for her response, he quickly switched topics again. "I visited my brother, Grawp, over the summer break."

"How is Grawp?" Hermione asked curiously, wondering if his brother was still residing within the confines of the Forbidden Forest.

"He is much happier now, living up north, never really took to being confined as he is down here," Hagrid answered hesitantly, causing Hermione to wonder if he was as nervous about this meeting as she was.

When he finished his statement, silence stretched between them.

"We've waited a long time for you to return, Hermione." Hagrid's tone betrayed regret and another emotion she couldn't identify.

At her lack of response, he sighed then continued. "But perhaps that is best left for another day." Silently, she agreed.

"Harry and Ginny will be delighted to see you again," Hagrid tried again.

Again, Hermione made no response, but she quirked an eyebrow at what had rapidly deteriorated into a one-sided conversation.

Hagrid cleared his throat. "Perhaps I should get you up to the castle. Best foot forward," he chimed, "that's what my dad always said."

Hermione smiled gratefully at the words of encouragement, the reprieve from painful topics, and Hagrid's attempt at helping her relax, no matter how much he had failed. Here with Hagrid, at least, she knew she was welcomed by a friend.

Hagrid looked her directly in the eyes as he sheepishly returned her smile, "Well, now . . . I'm glad I told you that!" He then abruptly picked up Hermione's case and started walking toward the wide castle doors. The breeze ruffled his wildly tangled hair and billowed his great moleskin coat.

Hermione was aware that her attempts at procrastination had not fooled him for a second, and Hagrid, always a thoughtful, if sometimes misguided friend, had allowed her that precious time to steel herself for the upcoming confrontations. Hoisting her tote, she had to run to keep up with his enormous stride.

Much too soon, the giant oak doors loomed in front of her. She quickly followed him up the stairs then paused to take a deep, steadying breath. She nervously bit the inside of her lip and stepped through the doorway. The moment she most dreaded had arrived.

The Entrance Hall, too, looked exactly like she remembered. Flickering torches lit the large, cavernous room. The ceiling was so high it was barely visible. On her left, tightly locked, stood the imposing door to the antechamber where first years waited until the Sorting Ceremony was to begin. In front of her was a large, fir tree standing in an enormous, gold planter. It was beautifully decorated with antique gold ornaments, flickering candles and rolls of tartany ribbon. Its root ball was wrapped tightly in burlap. After the holiday, the Herbology class would replant it on the edge of the forest.

On her right, Hermione noticed that one of the doors to the Great Hall eased itself open to accommodate a small group of students who were trying to enter. When they made it through, the door noisily slammed itself shut, a loud thud echoing through the building. Breakfast would be starting shortly. Hermione was grateful she made it on time; she would rather face her demons in a crowd than suffer their contempt in private.

Hermione watched as Hagrid placed her case at the foot of the stairs. She carefully placed the tote bag on top. She knew that the house elves would soon come along to collect them and place them in her room. She wondered idly if Dobby was still working in the kitchens.

Directly in front of her, a slight movement captured her attention. Descending the great marble staircase was a figure she recognized instantly.

"Professor McGonagall," Hermione stepped forward, her hand extended, to greet her former Head of House, "how very nice it is to see you again."

Professor McGonagall looked down at Hermione's offered hand and frowned, "Hermione Granger, is that anyway to greet an old friend? We may not have seen each other in ages, but I have often asked you to call me Minerva, please continue to do so."

Hermione blushed with embarrassment, nervously pushed her spectacles further onto the bridge of her nose, and stepped into the hug Minerva offered. Perhaps this experience would not be as bad as she originally thought. Hermione quickly removed her coat and hat, and sat them both on top of her baggage.

"Headmaster Dumbledore will see you in his office after you have had breakfast." Professor McGonagall took her by the arm and steered her in the direction of the Great Hall. "We have many students who remained here over the winter holiday, and many more who returned from holiday, surprisingly early."

Hermione nodded in acknowledgement, certain Minerva knew more about this situation than she was letting on, but without first consulting Professor Dumbledore, she knew she had to be guarded in her responses.

There were about 70 students seated up and down the tables in the Great Hall, the ceiling reflected a soft blue light and cascaded with snow. The sky, inside like this, was beautiful to look since you didn't have to suffer the bitter cold.

Surveying the slightly chaotic scene before her, Hermione tucked some stray hairs behind her ears. Together they stepped forward and marched their way through a crowd of students gathered around a high-spirited game of wizard's chess.

"That game is still totally barbaric." Hermione remarked loudly, smiling as she remembered the eager challenges often issued by Ron, Seamus, Neville and Harry. Her comments elicited nervous glances from the youngest students.

McGonagall smiled benignly before continuing on to the high table.

As she passed Dumbledore's chair, he nodded and smiled a friendly greeting.

"You may sit here next to me, my dear." Minerva seated herself in the chair to Dumbledore's left and indicated for Hermione to take the chair on her immediate left.

Hermione sat down gratefully and filled her goblet from the pitcher of pumpkin juice on the table. The Great Hall looked less imposing from this perspective, and the students very young. She wondered if she had ever been as young as these students appeared. Maybe she had been young in years, but definitely not in maturity.

The festive ambiance slowly started to calm her thoughts and she looked smilingly down upon the antics of the students.

With a loud crash, the doors to the Great Hall swung open, and in glided Professor Snape, a magnificent scowl darkening his features. The students scattered, quickly taking their seats, forgetting that seconds before they were having good-natured arguments over the strategies of various chess moves.

Professor Snape sneeringly looked right and left before striding confidently forward, just begging for a Hufflepuff to look askance at him, stammer in his presence or move in a way that drew his particular attention. The students closest to his path wisely remained motionless. The deduction of house points was obviously in the forefront of his mind.

His preoccupation allowed Hermione the opportunity to steady her nerves. She slowly lifted her goblet to take a sip, but instantly lowered it. The tremor in her hand made it impossible to drink. Better to be thirsty, than spill her drink and draw attention to herself.

As he approached, she observed him discreetly. He looked much the same as he always had. Dressed entirely in black, his clothes still had a damnable amount of buttons. Obviously he had already been working at his precious cauldrons already this morning, his hair hung in dark, limp tangles around his face.

He stalked around like a predator in search of wounded prey, closing in for the kill. His shoes beat a rapid staccato on the flagstones and his teaching robes ominously swept the Floor as he passed.

The closer he came to the high table the more Hermione was able to distinguish some slight differences in his appearance. The lines on his face were deeper, especially around his eyes, giving that famous scowl an even blacker appearance. There was an even more pronounced downturn of his lips. His eyes narrowed with malice and distaste. His rebukes of the students were laced with bitter vitriol. Several of the youngest quaked in silent fear as he passed.

Hermione knew the exact moment when he spotted her sitting at the high table. The expression on his face never changed, but there was the slightest tensing about his shoulders and an even slighter narrowing of his eyes. Someone not watching him closely would never have noticed.

His head never moved, but those eyes glanced quickly at her face, and then glanced immediately away. His gaze lingered for just an instant longer on Professor McGonagall. She stiffened slightly, and greeted him with a stiff nod and slightly stilted, "Severus."

He approached a chair, and seated himself between Professors Trelawney and Sinistra. That he actually chose a chair next to Trelawney spoke volumes about how unsettled he felt.

The meal appeared on the table as soon as he was seated. However, Hermione had lost whatever appetite she arrived with. The optimism she had been cultivating, when her first encounters at Hogwarts went so well, quickly disappeared.

She sat there letting the conversation flow around her, stiltedly answering the questions directed specifically to her. She could not even see Snape from where she was sitting, seven chairs to his left, but she could feel the heat of his anger.

When he finished with breakfast, which he barely touched, Snape rose quickly from his chair, muttered a quick "Headmaster" in the direction of Dumbledore then hurried around the end of the table and down the long aisle that stretched between the high table and the Great Hall's entrance. Several students ducked to avoid the ferocity of his scowl. As he approached, the door swung open violently on its hinges, crashed loudly into the wall, causing many unsuspecting students to jump in fear. It slammed closed even louder.

Hermione gulped down the rest of her juice, stood and silently followed Professor Snape down the aisle and through the doorway into the Entrance Hall. She felt the eyes of every inhabitant in that room boring into her back.

Hermione approached him silently, apprehensive about his reaction but reminding herself repeatedly that she was a Gryffindor and would never take the coward's way out.

He had stopped about halfway across the entrance hall, his back toward her, shoulders slumped, both hands rubbing his temples then combing agitatedly through his hair. He must have sensed her presence because he turned to face her before she uttered a sound. His icy exterior had snapped quickly into place. 

"Why are you here, Miss Granger?" Snape asked bitterly, staring at some point over her left shoulder, never once looking into her face. The crease between his eyebrows grew deeper with every syllable. His glittering black eyes narrowed into slits.

"Hello, Miss Granger," Hermione sarcastically replied, angry herself with his dog in manger attitude, "how nice to see you again. You are certainly looking well. Why thank you Professor, I have been feeling well, except for this trifling cold I had a…"

He cut her off with a muffled curse. "I repeat, why are you here, Miss Granger?"

"Professor Dumbledore has arranged for me to help sort out some recent, er… problems, concerning the Muggle students." Hermione answered hesitantly. Unsure of his reaction, she nervously tucked that stray lock of brown hair behind her ear. She had been expecting his hostile attitude but still felt wary. 

"Surely, he warned you of my arrival." No response was forthcoming.

"He did tell you, didn't he, Professor?" Hermione persisted, almost fearing his answer.

Snape turned briskly away from her, walked away a few paces, then snarled his next words angrily over his left shoulder, without breaking his stride, "No, he didn't, you stupid, stupid girl."

He kept walking, and then disappeared through the dungeon's dark entrance.

Hermione did not even realize that Dumbledore was standing behind her until he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. His fingers squeezed her shoulder lightly, an empathetic gesture.

"I would like to say, Hermione, that the worst is now over. But in lieu of the situation, I fear the worst is yet to come." Dumbledore's words offered little comfort, but the soft, raspy tenor of his voice helped to soothe her ravaged nerves.

"I must go and speak with him. Please join us in my office in one hour. The password is 'Jelly Slugs.'"

Hermione nodded her head in acknowledgement. This situation was quickly becoming untenable. She knew Dumbledore was right; the worst was yet to come. She knew she had made mistakes in the past, but she had learned to live with them. She wasn't offering excuses. Perhaps she should remind Snape that he was also far from perfect.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Hermione turned back to the entrance of the Great Hall. Minerva stood there shaking her head. She clucked her tongue sympathetically at Hermione, took her by the hand and headed for the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 Stand and Be Counted

Hermione knocked loudly on the large, oak door, then pushed it slowly open. Dumbledore sat in the oversized chair behind his desk, head bent low over a stack of parchments. He did not glance up; just waved his hand in a vague gesture she hoped meant 'come in.'

Hermione entered, closed the door quietly behind her, and walked silently to stand before the large, cluttered desk.

"Please be seated, Miss Granger." Dumbledore indicated the chair to her right, still without looking up. She curiously wondered what held his attention so completely. Glancing around, she sat in the proffered chair. Obviously, Snape had not yet arrived.

She wondered vaguely how long she would have to play this waiting game. After the reception she had received in the Great Hall, she wondered if he would bother to show up at all. Perhaps he was, even now, in the dungeon packing for a long, overdue sabbatical.

Hermione took the opportunity to survey the surroundings at her leisure. The large, round room was more cluttered than she ever remembered it being. Stacks of books dotted every available surface. She quirked an eyebrow when she noticed that the pile in front of her seemed to be entirely about croquet.

From his golden perch, Fawkes eyed her steadily, with dull eyes; feathers tattered, like a half-plucked turkey. He desperately needed a Burning Day. High on the walls above the desk, portraits of past Headmasters murmured excitedly, the figures darting in and out of each other's pictures. Every one fighting to get the best possible view for the upcoming confrontation.

Hermione now wished she had accepted Minerva's earlier offer of a good, strong drink. She could have used it to steady her nerves. Fretfully, she drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly.

Just when she thought she could not stand the silence any longer, Dumbledore hurriedly pushed the sheaf of papers into a desk drawer, clasped his hands together, attempted to smile reassuringly at her, and waited for the coming knock.

It never came. Instead, the door was thrown back on its hinges, slammed into the wall with shocking force and bounced back with even more amazing momentum. It was clear that time had not lessened Snape's anger, quite the reverse.

Dumbledore sat there looking at him, patiently waiting. However, Snape refused to be baited. Hermione sat frozen in her chair, hoping to avoid his immediate attention. 

"Please be seated, Severus." Dumbledore began tentatively, hoping that this time he had not pushed Professor Snape too far. Not all those years of fighting Voldemort had affected him as acutely as the prospect of working in close proximity with Hermione Granger.

"Before you begin, Headmaster," Snape's interruption cut off Dumbledore's attempt to address the reasons for the meeting. "I would like to state plainly for the benefit of both you and Miss Granger that I am opposed to the arrangements you are making."

"Severus," Dumbledore began evenly, his words carefully measured. "I have explained to you the severity of the situation. If this mystery cannot be resolved, we will have to close the school, leaving students without the safety and security Hogwarts can provide, an unacceptable situation, you must agree. I have specifically requested the assistance of Miss Granger. She is here under instruction of the Ministry. It is done."

Hermione slowly rose from her chair. Both men turned to face her. She was not surprised when Snape looked at her for only a heartbeat then directed his gaze somewhere over her right shoulder. His obsidian eyes glittered with suppressed emotion.

"Professor Snape," she began. His shoulders stiffened in rejection of her words, hands fisted at his sides. "I understand that you are apprehensive, but I do not intend to disrupt your teaching or research schedules. However, I agree with Dumbledore, that our first concern is for the welfare of the students."

"Actually, Miss Granger, my first concern is to have you removed from these premises as quickly as possible." Snape's dark tone sent a shiver goose bumps down her spine. "However, since my wishes in this matter are beyond consideration, I will make available to you a work bench that will adequately serve your purpose, and give credence to your presence in the Potion's Lab. You may use whatever supplies you require from the storeroom, but will replace them at your own expense. You will not intrude upon my work, research or personal space. I have no need of your opinions, doubts or declarations. If you find yourself in need of someone with whom to give your confidences, I suggest you seek out Minerva. I imagine she will be a grateful recipient." He paused, breathing in audibly, gearing up for a continuance of his tirade.

Hermione sat there in stunned silence. His verbal attack brought on a sudden wave of lightheadedness. She closed her eyes against the hatred easily discernable in his. 

"About this one point, I want things to be unmistakably clear," Professor Snape continued. "Your interference in my classroom will not be tolerated."

There was another pause, this one more lengthy, as if Snape expected an argument. When she made no response, he continued. "I trust I have made myself understood." This was a statement, not a question.

Hermione nodded her head in agreement; she completely comprehended the implications of Snape's attitude. Her presence would be ignored, endured as necessity dictated, but otherwise ignored.

"Headmaster," Snape turned to face Dumbledore. "I have made the modifications for Miss Granger's accommodation, as requested."

Dumbledore nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement, but made no other response.

"If you no longer need my . . . assistance," he sneered as he lingered over the word, "I will return to my classroom."

Dumbledore sighed heavily, but again only nodded in silent agreement to Snape's desire for escape.

Without hesitation, Snape turned on his heel and strode quickly toward the door. He did not bother to spare Hermione another glance, and in this instance, she was grateful for the reprieve. Eventually, she would have to beard that particular lion in his den, but for today, she had had enough.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore turned his gaze to Hermione. "This has been a difficult day for you. I trust you will not be surprised to hear that, for the duration of your stay, you have been given rooms in the dungeon. Before you retire, I would like you to begin re-familiarizing yourself with the building and grounds. I know that as a student here, you, along with Harry and Ron, found some opportunity to explore the nooks, hidden passages and disappearing antechambers of this castle. Your knowledge will be of benefit when the students return in a few weeks. I have forwarded to your room information on all of our current students, and the staff members with whom you have had no previous contact. You will notice that we have employed another new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I should also tell you that Professor McGonagall has been made fully aware of the situation. Please feel free to confide in her."

"Headmaster," Hermione spoke quickly, then swallowed hard. "Do you know why Professor Snape harbors such an unhealthy aversion for me? As a student here, I disliked his teaching methods but always had great respect for his knowledge. After I joined the Order of the Phoenix, I held him in even higher esteem. I vaguely remember enjoying our conversations as we waited at Grimmauld place for word of Voldemort. Do you know what turned Professor Snape into such an irretrievably embittered man?"

"You are right Hermione. I watched as you and Severus developed a close acquaintance during the war years. Your friendship was important to him," Dumbledore acknowledged. "Friends for Severus were, are, a rarity, and in you he found some one with whom he could confide completely."

"I remember seeing him several years ago, at the Apothecary's, in Diagon Alley. I started to approach him. I was apprehensive about seeing an old friend, yet needed the connection." Hermione continued, ironically amused as she relayed the incident. "He looked right through me, that hateful sneer on his face. You know, the one he saves for first-year Hufflepuffs."

At that statement, despite himself, Dumbledore chuckled, knowing well the sneer to which she referred. It ranked on the Snape sneer scale somewhere between stolen potions ingredients and Neville Longbottom. 

Dumbledore's face quickly regained its serious demeanor. "What happened between the two of you I cannot say. I know that all of our lives were irrevocably changed by the war. Severus's experiences were even more life shattering than we knew. Serving as a double agent, he was caught in a tangled web of lies and deceits of his own making. There were very few of us with whom he could leave behind the intrigue and innuendo to be just a man. Severus fully expected to die the night Harry defeated Voldemort. That he didn't is a testament to his quick wits and desire to live a full, complete life."

"So, Headmaster," Hermione queried, "do you believe that Severus is content with the life he is leading?"

"I cannot say, Miss Granger. No one knows what lies within the vastness of the human heart, or the contents of another's dreams. Few people have the opportunity to look beyond Severus's surly exterior, to the man inside. But never doubt that as a man, his wants and desires are not so very different from those of any other."

Hermione nodded her acknowledgement of this last statement. She then rose from her chair and walked toward the door. Just before she pulled the door open Dumbledore called out for her attention.

"Miss Granger." His voice was laced with urgency. "I cannot impress upon you the importance of discretion in this matter."

"Yes sir," came her cautious reply. Her eyes were bleak as she stared directly into his. "I fully understand."


End file.
